


Repent I had not Done More Mischief

by gottapenny (dickjokesanddoilies)



Series: BoB Pirate!Verse [1]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Canon-Typical Violence, Extremely Dubious Consent, GODDAMN that's alotta bois, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, LIKE A LOT…, Liebgott's in this fic so idk what else you were expecting ;/, M/M, Prostitution, Slavery, Sobel is creepy and a douche, Swearing, Uhhh theft???, selective mutism, they're pirates so
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-05-15 17:14:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19300183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dickjokesanddoilies/pseuds/gottapenny
Summary: Climb aboard the good ship Easy, captained by the world renowned Captain Winters! And please disregard Main Gunner Speirs, his threats are (mainly) harmless! Oh, unless you dare say anything bad about our lovely Quartermaster of course! Ah, yes, and I'm sure you've been wondering about the screaming. Well, that's just Sailing Master Webster and his new...er companion Leibgott! Unless of course, you're referring to the constant shouting from that small man climbing the ropes like a monkey. That's just Luz.





	1. Through the Spyglass

The Good Ship Easy, captained by non-other than the world renowned Captain Winters, has been at a standstill with S.S. Currahee for over 42 hours now. It’s own leader, Captain Sobel, had been a constant thorn in Captain Winter’s side; constantly edging his barnacle-infested vessel into his territory, only to turn tail and swim the other way before Dick could confront them. Until today, apparently. 

“Looks like Ole Sobel’s finally got some balls, eh?” Guarnere cracked with his customary nasally cackle, elbowing Webster in the ribcage as the frowning Sailing Master attempted to catch Sobel in his telescope site. The blue-eyed man’s nose crinkled delicately in distaste while some of the other crew member’s added in their own colorful commentary. 

“Seems more like a death wish to me.” Speirs, Easy’s main gunner, muttered darkly as he slipped in on David’s other side, making the poor man jump and nearly drop his gleaming telescope into the ocean’s depths. 

“God!” Webster choked out, hugging the golden, undoubtedly expensive piece of equipment to his chest protectively, “You nearly gave me a heart attack, Speirs!” 

The gunner never took his serious, green eyes off of Sobel’s pacing form, somehow able to instantly pin him when David couldn’t do it with a literal magnified piece of glass to his eye. Only one corner of his mouth lifted into a sharp-toothed grin as he drawled lazily: 

“Just like keepin’ you alert, Sailing Master.” 

And with that, having successfully ensured that Webster would have to check beneath his bed twice a night for probably the rest of his life, Speirs slunk off to most likely chat up Quartermaster Lipton. Bill, as Speir’s apprentice, cackled even more as David’s expense. ‘Whatever,” David thought to himself with a long-suffering sigh, “it’s not like I shouldn’t be used to it by now.” 

Easy’s Sailing Master Webster was often the butt of the other men’s jokes, mocked because he’d come from a wealthy, proper household and had run off to “experience grand adventures” that he could hopefully write a novel about. The mates and A.B.S. viewed him as soft, air-headed, and unfit for seafaring duty. And Webster had spent the entirety of his career aboard S.S. Easy doing his damnedest to prove them wrong. For the most part, Webster liked to believe he’d done that; he was their Sailing Master after all. Still, the men weren’t quick to forget that Webster was just “a prissy little landlubber” at heart, especially men like Guarnere and Toye, who’d come from rough homes and had seemingly joined the life of piracy as a means of necessity. 

“What’s so interestin’ about Sobel’s ship anyways, Professor?” Luz swung into his view, quite literally, and using his much loathed nickname to boot. Another thing the men of Easy loved to harp on was David’s past career as a literature professor, which was akin to blasphemy to men like Hoobler and Muck who certainly didn’t know how to read. 

“Christs sakes, Luz!” Bill snagged the grinning Rigger by his dirty, faded vest and hauled him back on deck, “Could you NOT try an’ get yerself killed for one goddamned day?! One?” 

Luz just laughed delightedly as Bill carried on, nagging him about “faulty ropes” and “slippery masts”, shooting innocent glances past his friend over to Toye. 

“Don’ look at me Georgie,” Toye grumbled in his usual low, smokey voice, “for once I agree with Bill here.” 

“FER ONCE?!” 

Bill rounded now on the peg legged sailor, and David left the trio to their usual domestic, attention captured by a hatch swinging open on Ship Currahee that he’d been eyeing like a hawk. He zoomed his spyglass even closer to the pinch-faced man who exited from below deck, who was hauling a massive sack of grains up. That wasn’t what caught his eyes though; alibet it was curious as to why a swabbie (definitely some sort of low ranking member, what with his obvious drunkenness) would be hauling great bags of food in and out from below deck every night. That paled, however, to the other item clutched in the sunburnt, wobbling man’s fist: a whip, slick with freshly drawn blood. 

* * * *

Quartermaster Lipton considered himself to be a good, honorable man, considering his circumstances. He was fair, open, and he even still said his prayers every night even though he often felt rather silly doing so. He didn’t expect or want for much: a warm(ish) bed, a happy crew, some of Chef’s Malarkey’s best chow, and a little booty to send back home to his loving mother. He didn’t understand why he was being punished; what had earned him a red-cheeked, pacing, and ranting Webster in his quarters while he was trying to fill out Easy’s account books??

“-An THAT’S when I see it, Lipton! I’m telling you, plain as day, that drunken sailor comes stumbling out with a WHIP! A fuckin’ whip, bloodied with the blood of innocent men! It’s slaves! I know it, I can feel it in my gut, in my heart, in my goddamned chest; Sobel’s running a goddamned SLAVER’S SHIP and his in OUR waters!”

“Woah, boy, “ Lipton held up a calming palm, doing his best to ignore his now-throbbing headache, “how can you be so sure?” 

“I know what I saw, Quartermaster! Look, it doesn’t take a genius to puzzle it all together- not that I am one,” he added hurriedly, “it’s just- AUGH!” 

Lipton jumped as Webster, ever the drama queen, spun around and slammed his fist into the side of Lipton’s cabin. He couldn’t do anything apart from shoot his “son, I’m rather disappointed in your behavior right now” face at Webster’s tense back, while the man melodramatically tried to gather his wits again. When he spoke next, his words were much heavier, and much more quiet: 

“I hate slavers, Carwood. I detest the imprisonment and abuse of another human being. ‘S a big reason why I left home, you know? My family had servants, slaves. Shocking, I know. I just...as a boy, I would lie in my bed and pray to God to free those wonderful, kind-hearted people from my Mother and Father and cry and cry. And-and now, now there’s actual captive people who I can help and I can’t just sit here and do nothing about it! Not when we can fucking blast that sonovabitch Sobel outta our waters and put a stop to it!” 

He whipped around and looked Lip square in the eyes, uncaring that his own blue eyes were shining with unshed tears of frustration. He watched as Lipton’s stern facade melted in the face of his one of his men is distress, eyes softening as he took in Webster’s shaking fists and trembling lower lip, 

“David…” 

The dark haired man flinched minutely as Carwood stepped into his space, settling him with a gentle hand on the shoulder. It was an odd sensation, to have another man in his space, touching him even, and not expecting to be hit or have vitriol hurled at him. Yet again, David had to remind himself that not all men were like his father, and especially not Quartermaster Carwood Lipton of Ship Easy. A shaking, shuddering breath eased its way out of his chest as Carwood continued to stand in patient silence, kindness and understanding pouring out of every pore in the stocky, shorter man’s body.  
“Please, Carwood.” He grit out, inwardly kicking himself as a single, rebellious tear loosed itself in the face of the Quartermaster’s comforting presence, “Talk to Captain Winters.” 

And dammit all if Webster didn’t look so pitiful and heart-wrenching with his big, blue eyes and reddened nose that Lipton was already nodding his head before he’d finished speaking.


	2. Three Miles Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...a boy among the shivering captives who stood out to David, and not because of his elegantly-boned face either, though David couldn’t help but instantly note its appeal."

Lipton had marched into Captain Winter’s office as if he thought it was going to take a lot more convincing than it did to launch an attack on Sobel. Dick would never admit it, but he was kind of looking for an excuse to start firing up the cannons Sobel’s way. And with this new little tidbit of information his Quartermaster had provided, he was galvanized and filled with rage.  
Dick Winters hated the mere concept of slavery; it was in his opinion that every man, woman, or child ought to be able to be as uninhibited and free as they so wished. Often times he’d be stood on deck on a cool, clear night, squinting up at the stars, and feel a pang of sadness for those who’d never get to experience such a splendor. Most people saw the pirate business as one of crime and anarchy, and while it was that too, Dick saw it as unadulterated, unfiltered freedom. Any man attempting to rob anybody of their freedom was as good as dirt to Winters. And Captain Sobel had never exactly been high on Captain Winter’s list. Carwood was barely two sentences in when Dick cleared his throat, interrupting the nervously rambling man: 

“Yes, Quartermaster Lipton. Let’s do it.”

“Y-Yes?”

He cast his narrowed, ice-blue eyes out of his window and cut them to Sobel’s restless, pacing figure: “Oh yes.”

* * * *

A majority of the crew stood tense and waiting as Speirs began to lower the plank across to Currahee, white-knuckles impatiently clutching the cutlasses tied to their belts. Joe Toye, in particular, seemed all too eager to breach the enemy ship and stab something, but then again, that was pretty standard for the peg-legged young man. The other noticeably agitated man amongst them, apart from their captain who was just Like That, was Webster. The floorboards of the deck creaked incessantly as Webster’s leg bounced, not even pausing when Bill threatened to do bodily harm to the sweaty, curly-haired mess of a man. 

Unlike Quartermaster Lipton, David had in fact had to do a lot of convincing in order to get Captain Winters to let him board Currahee with the rest of the men. He normally appreciated that his captain cared enough about his well being that he oft. ordered their Sailing Master to remain in his quarters during battles, but it was also rather demeaning. After all, this was coming from a man who hadn’t allowed David to step foot onto Easy until he’d proven he knew how to handle a sword semi-competently. In the end, though, it hasn’t been his younger mate’s frantic jabbering that had convinced Dick, but the fierce determination that shone in those wide,sea-blue eyes once he’d stopped talking. That, and the fact that this attack was essentially entirely David’s doing, of course. 

“Ya know,” Skip Muck’s voice was sly as he scratched just beneath his eyepatch, “normally fellas ain’t so eager to get stabbed in the belly, Professor.” 

His cheeks flushed in shame and fury as most of the men barked in furious laughter, and he hunched his shoulders inward and at last, forced his shaking leg to still. He was surprised, however, when Chef Malarkey, one of Skip’s best friends, frowned deeply and slung a freckled, pale arm around Webster’s shoulders. 

“Aw, would ye lay off ‘a that cursed nickname, Skippy? Webster ain’t been a professor in over three years now!” 

“AY! It’s Skip, not Skippy! Muck if ye must!!” 

David practically melted in the face of the good natured chef’s sunshine smile directed towards him, unable to help the happy little smile that always popped up on his face whenever any of the men showed them a hint of affection and/or acceptance. 

“Gee, thanks Don.” 

“Aye, it’s noth-” 

“AYE LADS!” Quartermaster Lipton’s shout broke everybody out of their daze, shifting in eager anticipation, “ PREPARE TO BOARD!” 

Don removed himself from David’s sigh with a friendly pat on the shoulder which nearly knocked the air from his lungs, and with a swallow, David turned his eyes across the way and zeroed in on the mysterious hatch, heart pounding like war drums up against his ribcage.

“Time for me to do something good for once with my life.” 

* * * *  
The second Captain Winters gave them the nod to proceed, the air erupted with chaos. The men of Easy roared a fierce battle cry (none quite so loud as Speirs of course) as they stampeded unto the rickety, wave-worn ship with their freshly polished and sharpened cutlasses catching the mid afternoon sun’s rays like mother of pearls. Most of the men clashed almost instantly with the closest enemy face in sight, but David was of a single mind. 

He bobbed and weaved, ducking his head at the occasion swing of a blade his way, with his perfectly white teeth grit. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t feel frightened as dirt-caked faces leered in his space and men cried out in agony all around him; he just knew that nothing could stop him from reaching his destination, from freeing those people! Finally, after he was certain he’d gotten at least an inch of his goddamn precious hair lobbed off for his efforts, David reached the hatch where the drunken sailor had been hauling both grains and cat-o-nines and scrambling on his knees to remove the heavy, wooden plank barring easy access. Seeing the barrier only confirmed his fears that Sobel was keeping something down there apart from stale rations and ship rats. Finally, after painstakingly pawing at the splintery board, David cried out in quiet triumph, grasped the rusty handle, and hauled the hatch open. His joy was short-lived though, and quickly replaced with cold fear as his ears picked up on a very distinctive, metallic clinking sound drifting up from below-deck. 

Chains. Those were goddamned chains. 

It was all the encouragement he needed to get up off his ass and rush down the terribly built little steps, fire burning in both his eyes and his heart. All his fiery passion slammed into a brick wall, however, as his feet landed on the last step and he was hit with a wave of stench. He staggered, clutching his crisp, white cravat over his nose and doing his very best not to gag, but it was a fool’s errand. David’s knees shook beneath him as he was hit by a hellish concoction of unwashed bodies, blood, vomit, and every other inhumane smell you could conceive of. Before he’d even set foot in the slave’s quarters, he was certain he’d been right on the money, and it made him want to scream and set Sobel and fucking Currahee on fire. Perhaps he’d be able to convince Captain Winters afterwards. For now, he pushed through. 

About a dozen of the filthiest, and most petrified human being’s he’d ever seen awaited David as he crossed the threshold into the slave’s quarter, silent save for the clinking of their shackles caused by the way they violently trembled. David noticed several things at once, all of which bewildered him: one: all of the faces were young, two: they were all male, and three: strangely enough, most of these slaves appeared to be white men, rather than the black or brown faces he’d mainly expected. “What the fuck has Sobel been up to?” It took him a moment to shake himself out of his shock, but once he had, he took a step towards the huddled mass of frightened young men. Most of them flinched backwards as one unit, shielding their faces or squeezing bloodshot eyes shut to whisper quiet prayer. All except one. 

There was a boy among the shivering captives who stood out to David, and not because of his elegantly-boned face either, though David couldn’t help but instantly note its appeal. No, this slave stood out because, while his associates were only caked in filth, he was also bruised and bloodied. His right eye was nearly-swollen shut, his otherwise lovely face smudged with dark purples and, far more troubling, the faded yellows of past abuse. His full, downturned lips were also marred by a deep, nasty looking cut on his lower lip, and this wound David could tell was fairly fresh, because it was still sluggishly dripping down his pale, pointed chin. The wavy-haired boy also stood out to him because he was glaring directly into David’s soul like he was attempting to burn a hole through the back of his skull. 

“I’m here to help.” David held both palms up in the universal symbol of peace, and tried for what he hoped was a warm smile. All David received for his efforts was more trembling and a vicious curl of the beautiful, bruised boy’s lip.

“Lüge. Der hübsche Junge ist nichts als ein Lügner, Jungs.” the battered boy spat with contempt, obviously assuming David wouldn’t be able to understand him. Unfortunately for both parties, David not only knew German; he was practically fluent. 

“Nein, werde ich nicht. Ich schwöre auf das Leben meines Kapitäns. Ich bin gekommen, um Sie zu befreien, um diese Ketten zu brechen.” 

It was incredible to watch a tad bit of the harshness bled out from those dark, sharp eyes, softening minutely as this strange man spoke his native tongue back to him, all with such an open, earnest expression. There was still a healthy dose of suspicion on the boy’s face, but after weighing everything, David sagged in relief as the angry young man turned to the others and muttered that he believed David’s words were sincere. 

“Y-You have the key?” When the boy spoke in English, his voice was somehow even more harsh and sharp-tongued, sounding like he was pushing every syllable off of his tongue and out of his mouth. Even so, David found himself grinning at the gruff words, grateful that their wouldn't be such an incredible language barrier after all. 

“Key?! Hello, do you have any brains up in that massive head of yours?!” 

As the boy’s miniscule level of patience wore thin, his face went from sullen to venomous, sharpening every line in his face, and the beauty of it yanked David out of his own head, not much caring about the words per say. His stupid smile gave way to a frown as he swore:

“Fuck, I didn’t think of that!” 

“Yeah,” Those dark eyes sparkled and David felt absurdly like he’d received a gift when the boy smirked meanly, “don’t think too much, do ya’?” 

David may be starting to see why this one got hit so much. 

“Well, shit, okay. I-I gotta go...I’ll be right back. Say, know who has ‘em?”

The bloodied, mean smile opened to give David what was just bound to be useless information, most likely blanketed by backhanded comments, but something instead made his one good eye go round with shock. All of the other captives mirrored his expression, and for a moment David thought maybe he’d done or said something. That is, until someone cleared their throat and scared the everloving HELL out of him. 

“Aye, that’d be me.” A low, quiet voice hissed, the words slurring together, and as David carefully turned himself around, he already knew he’d see a sunburnt, pinched off expression, and a sword pointed at his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language notes: 
> 
> "Lüge. Der hübsche Junge ist nichts als ein Lügner, Jungs" - Lies. The pretty boy is nothing but a liar, boys.
> 
> "Nein, werde ich nicht. Ich schwöre auf das Leben meines Kapitäns. Ich bin gekommen, um Sie zu befreien, um diese Ketten zu brechen" -No, I won't. I swear on my captain's life. I came to free you, to break those chains.


	3. Three Miles Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter is incredibly graphic/violent/upsetting!!! If you don't like blood/if you're easily skeeved out, then maybe jump to the next chapter! 
> 
> Also uhhh cookies to whoever can guess the name of this evil lil drunk man

    A chorus of trembling voices, all a mixture of accents and languages some of which even  _ David  _ couldn’t place, pleaded with him to run. It was, obviously, far too late for that, as the red-haired, drunken sailor stood directly between David and the stairway out. And he was seized with a violent sickness as bloodshot, clouded eyes scrolled down his form with an easy slowness that made him want to flinch away from the openy-greedy gaze. 

 

“Oi, what’s this now? How’d we miss ye in our travels, lass?” 

 

   The words dripped like sludge from the man’s thin, slack mouth, and David was nearly knocked backwards by the waves of shame and embarrassment as the disgusting words cut right to the core of many of his fears/insecurities. 

 

“Cryin’ shames I gotta kill ‘ya now. Lord knows if Cap’n Sobel’d snagged yer pretty arse instead of that bastard Winters, I wouldn’t ‘v had to spend most a’ me free time beatin that little German wench.”

 

  The mood in the cargo hold was so tense and quiet that David’s ears were able to pick up on how the German boy’s breath caught, and just that fearful, little sound made David want to cleave him to the brisket. His grip tightened painfully along the handle of his sword, and he took a heavy step towards the other man, fears completely out of his head now. 

 

“I’d suggest you stop talking now, you disgusting grog blossom.  This...what is this? What are ye and Soble doin’ with these innocent men?”  

 

  He knew. God help him, he already knew, but there was still some small, non-jaded part of him who had the tiniest bit of hope. Hope that was dashed up against the ragged rocks that surrounded them as the drunkard sucked his teeth smug as can be and leered at him once more: 

 

“Oh, like ye haven’t cracked jenny’s teacup before? Or would it be Johnny’s, seeing’s our employers have...particular tastes.” 

 

   He nearly was sick over his polished, leather boots right then and there, growing hot and cold all over simultaneously. This vision went red and his veins burned as his mind cried out for blood. More specifically, this asshole’s lifeblood, gushing like a goddamned fountain. So wrapped up in his blind fury was he that the rest of the vile creature’s worlds washed right over him: 

 

“Though ye seem like more’a Jenny yerself, lass. Mmm, perhaps I won’t kill ye, an’ I leave that pretty face ‘a yers alone and just hand ya over to Captain Sobel. Taken Captain Winters prized whore; I’m sure he’d like that plenty!” 

 

   His cutlass glimmered like silver coins in the setting sun as it sunk cleanly into the other pirate’s chest, forcing shouts of horror from most of the other parties. The red haired man stumbled, but the fact that he was still standing just wouldn’t do, and he reared back only to plunge his blade in again, a great roaring in his ears as the man went down like a sack of potatoes. Still, he followed the bastard’s descent, sliding gracefully to his knees and stabbing him over and over, He’d never killed a man before; hell he’d never even really severely  _ injured  _ a man before now, and he found himself mesmerized by the sheen of scarlett coating his blade and hands. After he’d sank his cutlass home for a fourth time, he startled as a still-gruff but much softer, familiar voice cut through the crazed fog in his head.

 

“Think ya got ‘im.” 

 

   Shame sliced through him as he spun around, wincing as he saw some dirt-smeared faces filled with sheer terror. There were three boys though, one of them being the dark-haired German, who’s expressions were more hardened. One of them, another redhead but that was where any similarities to the dead slaver ended, nodded and didn’t take his dark eyes off of the body sluggishly bleeding out behind them. 

 

“‘M glad the bastard’s dead.” 

 

    Such morbid and bitter words sounded utterly wrong coming out of such a young, sweet face, and David  was suddenly hit in the chest by the tragedy of the world he’d stumbled into,as he so often seemed to do. The third boy, the smallest of the entire group, raised his pointed chin and clasped his hand with the redhead. 

 

“Don’t feel bad,” the beautiful German urged, interpreting the tears that sprang to his eyes as guilt, “not for that son of a bitch.” 

 

   That beautiful, maddeningly red mouth quirked faintly upwards in a reassuring smirk of a smile, and he was floored by how such a simple, minute expression could transform an already-lovely face so dramatically. He was horrified with himself as his brain started waxing poetics, distracting himself by busying himself with locating the ring of keys fastened to the dead sailor’s waist. His shaking palms slipped in the blood, and this time David found nothing  _ artful  _ or  _ mesmerizing  _ about it. Still, he managed to snag the offending object, and slowly turned to face the boys with a gentle grin on his face. Shamelessly, he only had eyes for the bruised, sharp-faced boy, and his fond gaze was met by pure, nearly pitch-black heat.

 

“  Sehen? Ich halte meine Versprechen, Liebling.” 

  
  And David decided he could’ve drank in the absolutely _divine_ flush that spread slowly and sweetly across those bruised, angular cheekbones for _days_ and never go thirsty again, smiling to himself as he bent down on one knee and started deftly removing the boy’s shackles. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language notes: 
> 
> wench-girl or woman
> 
> 'cleave him to the brisket' - to kill a man by cutting across from his chest to his stomach
> 
> 'Cracked Jenny's Teacup' - to spend the night with a protitute
> 
> grog blossom- insulting term, used to describe the reddening of a habitual drinker's nose
> 
> “ Sehen? Ich halte meine Versprechen, Liebling.” - "See? I keep my promises, love."


	4. We Stand Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We finally learn a little about Captain Winters past, and some of the faces of Sobel's captive cargo are revealed. 
> 
> TW: for some yucky racial slurs ://///

        Dick Winters departed from Lipton’s side with one last meaningful nod, determination burning hot in brown and ice blue. The overly-protective sea captain took a quick glance about the ship to see how his matey’s were faring and was unsurprised to see that already, his crew seemed to have gained the upper hand. All around him, a majority of Sobel’s men had already fallen to the un-swabbed deck, bleeding from non-fatal wounds just as he’d  instructed his men to inflict. As he deftly made his way through the sea of violence, his keen eyes landed randomly on Toye mid-battle. Joe’s sweaty face was a mask of indifference as he shoved one of Sobel’s crew members to the ground, grimacing at the foul words the defeated man was hurling at the short-tempered man as Joe followed him down. He was struck by a shockingly powerful burst of pride as the scowling, dark eyed young man brought up a furiously-shaking blade up, but refrained from slicing the enemy’s throat as Dick knew he SO wanted to. Instead, he pointed that blade steadily at the man’s nose, silencing him instantly, and raised his head to lock eyes with Dick. Toye gave him a barely- perceptible nod before reaching for the satchel on his hip and producing a handful of coarse rope to tie his defeated enemy up with. Later on, Dick would play back this memory with a silly little grin on his face, almost overwhelmed by the progress Toye had made. Currently, though, he had all of his focus and attention on obtaining Captain Sobel’s location, and finally putting an end to this five year long rivalry. 

 

/flashback/ 

 

      As a much younger, eager Richard Winters stood in a line full of other young men hoping to be selected by Captain Sobel for the brand new crew he was assembling, his Ma’s tearful face played over and over in his head. 

 

‘Please, Dickie, “ she’d sobbed, and Dick had flinched  away from the childhood nickname, “I can talk to Papa! I-we can get you help-” 

 

      Blue eyes squeezed themselves shut automatically, to hide his agonized tears from the cruel gaze of the stern-faced sea captain as he continued to pace before them. 

 

“As a privateer,” Captain Sobel had bellowed so loudly that Dick’s ears were still ringing from the audible assault, “I won’t only any old scum from the streets to step foot on Currahee. You  _ boys,  _ with your cowardice, your lack of knowledge of anything to do with seafaring, and the weakness I can  _ smell  _ from here will only have one chance. One shot, and if you so much as THINK about fucking it up, I  _ will  _ have you keelhauled, and what’s more? I’ll enjoy it. 

 

You!” 

 

Suddenly, Sobel was nearly nose to nose with the startled nineteen year old, and when Dick’s eye flew open, there wasn’t a single  _ hint  _ of a tear present, 

 

“Aye, Cap’n?” 

 

“Referring to me as your captain already? Ballsy move there…”

 

“Winters, sir. Dick Winters.” 

 

      Sobel barked out a caustic laugh, “Well,  _ Dick,  _ lemme guess. You’re a farm boy, who never dreamed of ever leaving his loving mother’s arms to come join those miscreants o’ the sea, right? But then dead ole’ daddy gets with the drinkin’, starts beatin dear ole mamma, and YOU, thinkin’ you’re a real man, decide you’re ready for life out on the open ocean. Well, I can promise you this,  _ Dickie _ ; the life a’ pirates is a whole other world, and it’s filled with greater sins than that simple lil farm boy’s head ‘a yers could ever hope to imagine.” 

 

Dick hadn’t flinched away that time. 

 

/flashback end/

 

     All of the icy stoicism Dick had com to associate with Captain Sobel was nowhere to be found when he finally crossed paths with his former employer. In fact, Dick would have laughed at the sheer panic on Sobel’s face if he weren’t so overwhelmed with disgust, and if he weren’t a better man than Sobel was. 

 

“Don’t stop!” 

 

     Sobel screeched at one of his mates as the privateer frantically kept cranking down the escape boats, only to be halted by his partner’s petrified silence. The young man, scar-ridden but still quite clearly a  _ young  _ man, had spotted Captain Winters before his superior had, and was rightfully frightened. Captain Winters may’ve had a reputation for being as close to pacifistic as a pirate crew can be, but the history between he and Captain Sobel was a long, ugly one. 

 

“Wha-what ‘re you-  _ oh shit!”  _

 

“Evenin’, Captain Sobel, sir.” Dick greeted politely. The cutlass he deftly removed from his holster was, admittedly, less polite. 

 

“Wha-Winters, Dick, I-” 

 

“How’s about you get outta here son?” Dick addressed the wide-eyed boy, now noticing the filthy bandages that covered his palms and feeling his lip curling at the blatant mistreatment of crew members. 

 

      The boy didn’t hesitate to heed Dick’s words, not even bothering to try and apologize as he abandoned his captain to what he undoubtedly presumed was his death. Clearly there was no love lost there. Once they were alone, Captain Winters turned those startlingly-pale eyes that had had songs written about them narrowly on Sobel, taking in how much fear lay in those squinted, dark eyes with no small amount of pride. It’d been a difficult road on the high seas for Dick Winters to gain a modicum of respect from his fellow pirateers, in no small part thanks to Captain Sobel himself. Now, it was Sobel cowering from beneath  _ Dick’s  _ shadow, and he was dizzy with the rush of power. 

 

“Herbert, we’ve done this song and dance for coming on five years now; I find it hard to believe you never anticipated me coming down on you to finally put a stop to it.”

 

“ _ Dick _ , allow me to explain-”

 

“You spent my first five years on the seven seas talking down to me, treating me with undue disrespect, and bad mouthing me name to any man, woman, or beast that’d listen. And when I finally leave ye’ to start me own crew, not only does that trend continue, but you spend half yer time hovering ‘round the edge of my territory. For offenses far lesser, I’ve cut down men in their prime. Not proud a’ it, but ye understand. ‘S the life we chose, and besides, yer reputation is as soaked in blood as it is in just about every other conceivable offense to mankind.” 

 

Sobel faltered at that, shocking Dick by falling to his knees and holding his hands up in supplication: 

 

“Mercy,  _ Dick,  _ please!” 

 

“Aye, perhaps. First,I’m going to need the truth from ye’, Captain Sobel. And dependin’ on how much I like the answers, then maybe we’ll see.” 

 

The responding sobs were those of a guilty man. 

 

“One of my men...he’s a sharp one, my David, reckons that you an’ yer crew are up to some foul play. He spotted one a’ yer men entering yer cargo bay day after day with a massive sack ‘o grains. What’s worse, me David’s also noticed that that same man returns each time with, of all the crazy things, a whip. So,” he took a heavy step forward, his blade gleaming with promise, “how’s about you explain that one ta me?” 

 

      Something in the air changed as the fear slipped completely off of Sobel’s features, replaced by cool indifference the longer Dick went on with his description of what David had reported to him. By the end, Sobel had gotten back to his feet, eyes glimmering with an expression Dick had only seen on a shark once. It was the look of a monster, a predator who’d smelled blood in the water.

 

“Oh, what, do my methods a obtaining wealth  _ upset  _ ye,  _ Dickie? _ Based on all the rumors flyin’ about the high seas about yer...particular proclivities, I’d expect ye to know all about my business.” 

 

“What are ye implying?” Dick’s nose wrinkled in disgust. He’d made it no secret how much he detested the slave trade trend that’d consumed the world of piracy, and had demonstrated such by retracting his “no kill” clause whenever some slave trading bastards drifted into his waters. 

 

And oh, he didn’t like the wide, mean smile that split across Sobel’s ugly, sweat-drenched face:

 

“Ye’ didn’t know? See’s, what sets me apart from any old regular slave ship is me product I sell. Any man can snag any old negro up from the congo; if that’s all I wanted, I could do it in a blink. My  _ boys  _ though, I pick ‘em special; nothin’ but the prettiest, innocent lads for me stock. A’ every size, color, nationality, you name it, Ole Sobel can get it fer ye. I definitely got more ‘n one soft hearted farmboy below deck; who knows… Maybe ye inspired me some.” 

 

“YOU BASTARD!”  Dick lunged without seeing, blinded by the horrible picture Sobel had painted for him. Slavery of any and all kinds was truly the lowest of the low in Dick’s opinion, but Sobel had somehow managed to make even the  _ capture and sale of human beings  _ worse. Unlike David’s blind stab of fury, Dick’s enemy was sober enough to dodge the strategy-lacking blow, outright  _ laughing  _ as grief and horror twisted Dick’s face. 

 

“Frankly, I was surprised ye weren’t me number one customer,  _ Dickie _ . Everybody knows yer a boy lovin’ bastard!” 

 

He roared in righteous fury as both captain’s blades connected with a sharp  _ clang _ . Dick was relentless in his scorn, though, ignoring Sobel as he continued to hurl abuse at the red haired man. 

 

“ _ Yer David.  _ At least most ‘a the scoundrels that come ta me have the decency to be ashamed a’ themselves! Ye’ probably slept with half yer crew, ye scurvy dog!” 

 

      Sobel continued to laugh and stagger backwards under Dick’s assault, the constant barrage from the slighter man giving him pause every so often. The older man had been so wrapped up in his vitriol that he didn’t notice what Winters was doing until his back hit the side of his vessel, and his jokes abruptly stopped as Dick pointed his sword directly at Sobel’s heaving chest, silent as the grave. 

 

“You’ve spoken nothing but slander and lies about me since we first met, Herbert. None a’ what you or anybody else says about me is truth, but ye’ just confirmed that  _ everything  _ that’s ever been said about you is. Fer that, there’s no other options I see before me than to see that, fer all of those innocents whose lives you’ve destroyed with yer blasphemy, to see that justice be done. But i won’t kill ye right here, right now. It’d be too kind. No, fer yer crimes, I’mma hang ye from the yardarm, where you will slowly, painfully die of suffocation. And I’ll watch ye choke and suffer, until ye’ve met yer maker. And  _ then,  _ Captain Sobel,  _ then  _ justice will be done.” 

 

       Dick stared right into Sobel’s soul, wanting to see that supplication, the grief of what was to come. He wanted to Sobel to beg for his forgiveness, only so that he could deny him of it. Any ounce of compassion Dick had possessed for the other man had been drowned beneath the salty waves. For just one moment, he thought he saw it, saw genuine  _ regret  _ slide across Sobel’s long, tired face, but in the next second, Sobel’s cutlass was sinking into Dick’s thigh and Sobel had leapt off the side of the ship in the blink of an eye. He went down with a shout, hands clasping around where the sharp metal protruded from him in an attempt to stem the blood flow, but the pain was a ceaseless  _ burning  _ that made his palms weak. Vaguely, he registered someone cry out his name, only really recognising the familiar tone as David’s when sweet smelling oils hit his nostrils as the bloodied, pale face swam into his vision. 

 

“Cap’n! Dick, shit! Ye can’t just-”

 

“OUTTA MY WAY.” 

 

    David was stunned as the smallest of Sobel’s captives, the one with the palest skin he’d ever laid eyes on, and hair so dark it almost registered as blue to his eyes, shoved David to the side and applied the blessed pressure Dick’d been unable to properly administer to his wound. 

 

    The was a chorus of surprised shouting from the rest of the captives that went ignored for the most part while the short boy with the baby face but all-too serious eyes went to work. 

 

“ _ So young _ ,  _ such a gentle face. The face of a mere boy.”  _ Dick found himself thinking as he stared at the fluffy mess of blue-black hair while the boy barked at Webster to ‘REMOVE YER JACKET, FOR CHRISSAKES!’

 

    Webster’s lovely embroidered, powder blue vest (a birthday gift from Lipton) was unceremoniously torn into strips and wrapped chokingly around Dick’s leg, wrapped carefully around the handle of Sobel’s cutlass. 

 

‘That’s the best I can do for ya’ right now, sir. Once we get back on your ship, hopefully your crew’ll have some better stuff that I can use to treat you?” 

 

“You a doctor?” Dick slurred in a haze, unable to connect the youthful face and the medical experience the boy spoke with. 

 

“My grandmere was, sir. Now, c’mon, let’s get ya offa this blasted ship and into your warm bed, eh?” 

 

“Hell’ve an idea…?”

 

“Eugene. Now c’mon, we gotta go.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language Notes: 
> 
> privateer: a private person or ship that engages in maritime warfare under a commission of war.[1] The commission, also known as a letter of marque, empowers the person to carry on all forms of hostility permissible at sea by the usages of war, including attacking foreign vessels during wartime and taking them as prizes (er, according to wikipedia)
> 
> keelhauled: a painful punishment in which a person is dragged side-to-side underneath a pirate ship, resulting in painful cuts from the planks and barnacles at the bottom of the ship 
> 
> cutlass: sword most commonly used by a pirate
> 
> "hang ye from the yardarm" :Execution by hanging;normal punishment for mutiny within a fleet.


	5. Voices Muffled by Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Babe was furious"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weeeee! Babe/Eugene centric chapter!! Gosh I had the dumbest smile on my face while writing the dialogue between Babe and Eugene; I can't help it! I adore those two lil angels! With brief mention of mother hen Liebgott, because I Am Utter Garbage.

    Babe Heffron continued to grit his teeth and breath violently through his nose as some guy, a Quarter-somethin’ or whatever, went down the line and patiently asked the captive boys what their names were and where they’d come from. Lieb kept shooting him looks of growing concern, but Babe couldn’t really give a damn. He couldn’t even find it in his heart to feel bad when Garcia flinched away from him.

Babe was furious.

    He’d spent weeks, god probably over a month at this rate, treating the boy with the most fascinating, dark-blue eyes he’d ever seen like he was made out of glass. He had been sweet, patient, and always offered to hold the pale boy’s hand every time that bastard Cobb came stomping noisily down the stairs. And, yes, okay perhaps Babe hadn’t been wholly selfless in wanting to touch the beautiful boy; but he had still grown to care deeply for the other, immensely so. And only now, after weeks spent sharing watery, gruel, shackled so closely together that they were basically breathing each other’s air, only NOW had Babe been allowed to know the man’s name.

Not to mention the fact that he was not, in fact, a goddamned mute!

   Seriously, Babe felt like a true goddamn idiot; like Eugene had been playing him this whole damn time. The penultimate thing he felt, though, was hurt. Why, when Babe had asked Eugene what his name was, had the guy simply blinked at him like he’d asked the world’s dumbest question?? Why, when Babe had to shake Gene from the nightmares that had his dark-haired companion shivering and gasping, had he chosen to wordlessly tuck his tear-stained face into the crook of Babe’s neck, rather than talk it out with him? With each passing second, his head filled with more and more questions, and by the time Lipton reached him, he felt like he was about to implode or something.

“Aye, and you boy?”

“Babe. Say, when’s Eugene comin’ back?”

    Liebgott snorted loudly at the bitter way Babe spoke the good doctor’s name, and he became the recipient of Babe’s most serious, angry glare he could muster. He pouted when his Mega Glare only seemed to make Liebgott laugh harder.

“Your friend is currently tending to Captain Winters wound, but I promise you, he’ll be done shortly.” Lipton spoke in such a kind, understanding way that Babe bristled all the more for it.

“Great well, I don’t care. Seriously, Gene can go screw.”

“EY!” Liebgott turned to him with wild, furious eyes and Babe immeidately regretted opening his big, stupid mouth, “I get you’re upset, kid, but I ain’t gonna tolerate no one speakin’ ill of Doc like that, you hear?!”

   Lipton observed the exchange with an increasingly furrowed ‘brow, feeling himself losing grasp on the situation at hand: “Er, sorry, why are you upset with your friend again?”

“Cause-”

“Shut up Babe!” Liebgott snapped, and as much as Babe didn’t want to, he listened, “Look, you gotta understand somethin’ er…”

“Lipton. Carwood Lipton.”

“Lipton, right. We spent god knows how long with the guy, right? Night and day, and he says word one to us. You learned his name was Eugene today, right? So did we.”

    Liebgott’s temper seemed to worsen with each word, and in order to discourage that, Lipton turned his attention back to the red-faced ginger kid. He seemed angry too, but less likely to bite Lipton’s head off.

“That true?”

    The lanky kid confirmed with a tight, little nod and Lipton whistled lowly in sympathy. That kind of bullheaded, irrational thinking...it reminded him of one man in particular. The mental comparison brought a stupid smile to his face without his permission.

“‘S true.”

    A quiet voice in a thick accent the likes of which Lipton had never heard before, sounded sheepish to him as the pale boy made his way over. Both Liebgott and the er, Babe kid, were visibly upset by the site of their friend, though on completely opposite ends of the spectrum. Liebgott’s whole body tensed and his non-bruised eye burned a hole into poor Eugene where he stood at Lipton’s side. Babe, though, merely huffed and turned his thin, little nose up in the air: a caricature of “I’m mad right now”. To Lipton’s surprise, Eugene puffed out a barely audible chuckle before moving into Babe’s space, and it was as if the mere proximity to the redhead had breathed life back into the other boy. Lipton had already begun to regard Eugene as a sullen little creature, and the amused little quirk on those pale lips made the little medic practically unrecognizable.

“Edward.” Lipton continued to be stuck dumb as Eugene’s tone came out full of adoration and, of all things, fondness.

“‘M not gonna talk to ya, Gene. Not for weeks; how’s that sound? Sound familiar?”

“I deserve that.” Eugene’s quiet voice was still bathed in adoration, and Lipton kind of got it. The little redhead was so animated in his outrage that Lipton found himself wanting to smile. “Can I still talk to ‘ya? Cause I’d really like the chance to explain ‘m self.”

    Babe/Edward put on a show of pretending to think it over, but his performance was not all that convincing, what with him already nodding his head in agreement in five seconds flat. Liebgott smirked privately in his peripheral, and Lipton could only imagine how familiar displays like this must be for him. He waved the pair off when Gene shot him a questioning look, already resigned to not getting much of anything helpful out of them anyways. With Babe and Eugene scampering off to their own little private corner of the ship, Lipton glanced doubtfully at Liebgott. Well, maybe this one would be willing to help him out?

* * * *

 

    It was probably some kind of sick joke that the ‘private place’ Babe and Eugene wound up in was Easy’s cargo bay. Thankfully, small favors, it appeared Captain Winters’ crew actually used their cargo bay for its intended purpose; Babe hadn’t counted a single live person hidden amongst the many, many barrels of ale.

Jeez, how much did these guys put away??

    Eugene managed to make himself look somewhat dignified as he perched on a fallen sack of oats, and Babe hated him all the more for it. As for him, he was certain he’d managed to already get two splinters in the seat of his threadbare breeches, thanks to the barrel he’d opted for. Oh well, at least he was like, MEGA taller than Gene like this. Being able to glare down fully at Eugene made him feel a little more in control, and that wasn’t something he’d felt in weeks. Control, stability, safety. Not feeling like he was constantly in danger, like he had to check the shadows to see if Captain Sobel was looming there.

   Cold, rough hands seized his trembling palms, and fuck, since when had he been breathing all funny like that? Damnit, he was supposed to be mad at Eugene, and he had every right to be mad! Why was the other boy making it so goddamn hard to be mad at him?!

“Stop it! No, I’m mad at you, Eugene!”

Eugene’s smile flickered like candlelight, but he didn’t let go off Babe’s hands: ‘Sure you are,Edward.”

“Damnit, Eugene, will you cut it out with the ‘Edward’ crap?! Now that you’ve lowered yourself to speakin’ with me, the least you could do is call me Babe!”

Eugene did let go then, and Babe kicked himself for feeling a pang when the cool touch was taken away.

“I ain’t-Ed-Babe, that ain’t why I didn’t...I didn’t mean to hurt ya’, I swear. I didn’t want to speak in front a’...” Eugene swallowed loudly and in a flurry of limbs, Babe found himself reaching out to wrap his sweaty digits around Gene’s fingers comfortingly, unable to take the hitch of fear in the words, ‘S-So- him. I mean, the shit he was sayin’ about ‘exotic this’ and...fuck, after he kept hasslin’ you about your accent. It scared the hell outta me. And I was doin’ everything I could not to attract his attention any more like that first day, you know?”

    Babe’s eyes squeezed shut, a cold chill cutting through to his bones even in the draftless cargo bay, as he was reminded of that awful, awful day. That was the first day Sobel had decided to come down and size up his crew’s latest catch; the first and only time Babe had seen genuine fear cross Eugene’s face after he’d somehow caught Sobel’s eye. Well, first, it’d been Babe that had peaked Sobel’s interest, the drunken man muttering something about ‘ginger devils” or some such. Babe had barely gotten so much of a glimpse of the new boy hadn't even introduced himself yet, but that hadn’t stopped the smaller boy from pushing Babe behind him to hide him from Sobel’s greedy gaze. All of that gluttonous, objectifying interest had transferred swiftly to Eugene after that, and the boy had paid dearly for it. To this day, Babe still didn’t understand.

“Christ, why’d ya do it then? Ya first night here, and ya’ pull a stunt like that for-what? Fer me?!”

“I thought I could take it. I thought-I knew I could be strong.” Eugene’s voice rung with such a profound sadness that tears sprung to Babe’s eyes. They were tears of fear, of frustration, of horror of what had-happened and what could’ve been.

“I could’ve been-”

“No. “He jolted at the icy fierceness in Eugene’s voice, suddenly faced with the most stern expression he’d ever seen in his whole goddamned life; even his Ma’s “no shouting in church” glare couldn’t compare to an upset, insensed Eugene glare. Christ!

“No, Babe, I’d never’ve let that...that bastard touch ya’. I’d give my life before that.”

“Why?”

    That one word that slipped off Babe’s tongue automatically had finally startled Eugene, the other boy visibly thrown for a loop. Such wisdom, but even he didn’t seem to have the answer to that one.

“I...dunno. I guess I,” for the first time in however many weeks they’d known each other, Eugene seemed unsure of himself, “you just seemed so...good. An’ the thought of, of Sobel tainting that was too awful to even think about.”

  He watched in wonderment as a gentle flush colored the apples of Gene’s cheeks, the tips of his small, pointed ears, even creeping down the back of his neck. “He’s beautiful. “ Babe found himself thinking without his permission. After a moment, Eugene’s words sunk in, and Babe shook his head with a frantic little laugh.

“Me? What the hell ‘re you talkin’ about, Gene? If anyone’s purely good and all that, it’d be you; constantly patching up our wounds if any of us got hurt or sick. I ain’t nothin’ compared to that.”

   But even his sweet words paired with his most charming, schoolboy smile weren’t even to remove the stormy expression off of that pale, pinkened face. His heart rate picked up as Eugene’s dark eyes flashed with rage; fuck what had Babe done wrong now??

“Ya’ want me ta get Liebgott down ‘ere so he can smack ya for talking about yourself like that?”

    Eugene’s threat didn’t seem idle in the least, so Babe opted to shake his head silently. Plus, he knew that Liebgott would be doing just that if he were down here; Eugene may’ve pulled the silent act, but Liebgott had made his protectiveness towards the other boys a known fact, one often emphasized by threats of bodily harm. Which, if you asked Babe, was pretty much the goddamned opposite of what Liebgott was trying to convey, but Babe liked his head attached to his body, so he tended to keep those sort of thoughts to himself.

“You got me, Heffron?”

Babe shoved Eugene’s stern, shaking hands off of his shoulders with a sour face, waving Eugene’s sudden, intense concern away :

“Yeah, yeah, I gotcha, Gene. Christ, at least when you were a pretend mute, ya didn’t yell at me all the time!”


	6. (Stand Alone) Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe Liebgott is mad at the world. Big shocker there. This chapter could also be called: Emma describes David Webster's face for a looooooong time. Kudos and Comments are, obviously, loved and appreciated!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: some dubcon/noncon implied

 

   The nightmares that plagued Joseph Liebgott were always the same. Everything else changed: the late hour in which he’d finally managed to shut his weary eyes, the different aches and stings of whatever injuries his sharp tongue had earned him that day, and even now what ship he was trapped on had changed. And he  _ was,  _ after all, trapped. Sure, this Captain Winters had ordered some of his crew to give up their beds for the slaves, and Liebgott’s little cabin had a lock on it that he was actually permitted to use, but Joe was no fool. A pirate was a pirate was a criminal who only cared about personal gain. Even that soft spoken, gentle-eyed Quartermaster Lipton could not be trusted, because he’d chosen the same life as Sobel, and that was the life of heartless businessmen. He could ask Liebgott about his ~feelings~ all he damn well pleased; Joe would not forget who Lipton was. And now, thanks to his own stupidity and Sobel’s greed, he would not forget who  _ he  _ had become.  _ What  _ he had become, rather. 

 

   So, the nightmare: Joe is running after his older sister in the beautiful marketplace of St. Gilgen, Austria. Home. Time and trauma has made the details about just  _ what  _ Angeline had said that had pissed him off so much, all he remembered was how he’d been determined to smack the dumb, shit-eating grin off of his sister’s stupid face. Most likely it was something frivolous, meaningless,  _ childish.  _ Joe should’ve been happy: he was surrounded by smiling faces, stalls filled with fruit so ripe they were fit to burst, and he was totally, utterly safe. Of course, logically, Joe could not fault the naked nativity of his younger self; that skinny boy had not yet experienced the cruelty, degradation, and dehumanization that the Joe of today had. If anything, Joe burnt with a violent envy for that younger, happier Joe. 

 

   As the dream progressed, Joe weaved further and further through the crowd, and the sky slowly darkened as he lost sight of his sister’s head of long, wild curls and began being pushed to and fro by the ever-growing crowd. Clumsy on feet he’d only just started to grow into, he tripped over the shoe of a doughy, moustached man and nearly fell flat onto the cobblestone, only to be saved by a strong, calloused grip on his arm. His ears were still roaring, adrenaline drowning out whatever the tall, long-faced stranger was saying. So startled was he, that all his rattled brain could register was how the strange man’s tight grasp had cut into his skin, and how his dark, drooping eyes had seemed like bottomless, shining pits. 

 

  The sun-dappled square of St. Gilgen ebbs into a frigid night, and Joe’s wearing the exact same clothing his Ma had snapped at him to put on, but it’s weeks later, and his once-nice shirt and breeches are ragged and filthy. Those hands are still on his arms, vice-like and possessive. They hold him down in the Captain’s quarters, temporarily replacing the shackles that have started to feel like an extension of his limbs. Joe is not dumbstruck and static now;he fights and he screams and he spits but those eyes remain dark, fathomless pits that reflect nothing but the unholy darkness in Captain Sobel’s heart. One of those rough, cruel hands releases his left wrist and administers a backhand across Joe’s right cheek, blood spurting from the corner of his mouth as one of Sobel’s gaudy rings slashes him. That hand then wraps around the column of his tense, straining throat, not allowing him any more precious airflow, and finally cutting off his vicious onslaught of German insults. He’d learnt Sobel would possibly hurt him less if he didn’t know what exactly Joe was calling him. Panic rattled him from top to toe as the pitch-black grew somehow darker, as Sobel took his last line of defense, and Joe felt himself sinking into the murky, unforgiving ocean’s depths-

  
  


   Joe’s dark, tear-bright eyes flew open as three tentative knocks yanked him out of his hellish nightly routine; his upper body sprung straight up, prepared to fight. After he’d allowed himself a minute to get his heart rate back to something resembling normalcy, he scrapped a shaking palm over his eyes to rid himself of any traitorous tears that may’ve escaped during the night. Then, after a fourth even more hesitant rapping of knuckles on wood, Joe resigned that whomever had decided waking him up in the middle of the night was a sane and healthy choice wasn’t going to get the hint, and stomped over to the door. 

 

“WHAT?!” He snarled with all the ire he could muster (read: quite a bit) as he threw open the doorway without warning. 

 

   A familiar man, the one with a face so soft and open that it had immediately stuck out from the crowd of other pirates to Joe, nearly stumbled directly into Joe’s chest. Instinctively, he reached out and steadied his nighttime intruder with a squeeze, and tried his best not to admire the surprising definition he felt in the blue-eyed man’s biceps. As he tried to right himself, he wore that same stupid, open-mouthed expression from when he’d first stumbled into Currahee’s cargo bag.  Joe allowed himself exactly one second to linger on that full, wet mouth, before shoving the asshole just slightly -less harshly than he’d wanted to. 

 

“Geez, would you please stop pushing me?” 

 

“Would you  _ please  _ get the fuck outta my room and leave me the hell alone?!” 

 

   Joe truly hated himself for feeling somewhat guilty as he registered the hurt on that sweet face, idly thinking that this boy with eyes like the sea should never be made to look so sad. It just looked  _ wrong;  _ made Joe feel the same twisting of his insides that he felt that time he’d witnessed his neighbor kick his dog.  _ Fuck, there must be something truly wrong with him _ . His mouth reacted adversely to how he felt, punishing words making the beautiful stranger flinch backwards. 

 

“I..I didn’t mean to frighten you!” 

 

“ **_Frighten me?!”_ ** The deprecating term made Joe see red, and he would like nothing better than to claw out those big, breathtaking eyes.  _ Wait, did I just call this bastard  _ **_breathtaking_ ** _??  _

 

“Aw, Jesus, everything I say to you comes out all wrong. I don’t know what it is about you- I just. Look, I just… can we start over? I’d truly appreciate it if you could forget everything I just said or did since our paths have crossed-” 

 

“ _Auch wenn du mich Liebe nennst_? ” The words slipped mindlessly off of his tongue, surprising both of them. Fuckin’ hell, where’d  _ that  _ come from?? Thankfully, he watched as a bright flush rushed to the other man’s cheeks, and Liebgott knew instantly how  he could regain control of this situation. He pulled a slow, smug smile across his face, not taking his eyes off of David’s as he reached one hand out from behind David’s back and pushed the door to his cabin shut. The sudden slam pushed a fearful sound out of the Sailing Master that poured power directly into him, and for once, Liebgott felt like the one with the whip in his hands. It was a heady feeling, having finally gained something he’d felt he’d never feel again, and the former (?) slave reveled in it  like a starved man. The soft-looking man might have had an inch or two on Joe but he didn’t act like it as he allowed Joe to back him up against the rough wooden door, caving his much broader shoulders inward while Joe’s lean, lanky form blanketed him like a shadow in the midday sun. Blue eyes, sparking with something excited and equally frightened, stuck to where both of Joe’s arms boxed him in, whereas Joe never once strayed from his face. 

 

   In order to increase the intimidation (yes only for that reason), he allowed his eyes to skip over the pirate’s lovely features, taking in the full picture he made freely and happily. Cobb had been correct for probably the first time in his pitiful existence: if Sobel had snagged this spoiled, sun-kissed little thing, he would’ve been cast aside like stale hardtack in favor of this one. With his clear skin from a life full of pampering and lacking of any hard work, his strong cheekbones that somehow didn’t diminish his delicate, soft face, and of course, those  _ eyes  _ that could tempt even the Holiest of men. Joe hated him for it, for all of it. Hated this boy with flowery words and a face like the paintings his mother had dreamed of hanging in their tiny little house. He  _ loathed  _ how he was allowed to show weakness with fear,  _ allowed  _ to be soft and vulnerable and more beautiful than most of maidens in St Gilgen. Beautiful was a compliment for him; it had been a life sentence for Joe. With his darkest thoughts yet, Joe suddenly wished that their lives had been reversed, that Joe had been the one born in what was undoubtedly a massive house with closets full of expensive, soft clothes and all the food he could ever want. He wished for this guileless fool to be able to understand what it felt like to not allow yourself to smile, because if you smiled, you might capture the interest of dirty, moraless men who needed something  _ different and spirited  _ to warm their unmade beds. His fingers itched to show this boy  _ pain  _ and  _ cruelty,  _ because God, maybe then he would finally understand and Joe wouldn’t have to face such honest eyes and he wouldn’t be so  _ fucking alone.  _

 

“I-My name is David. David Webster. Could I-if you wouldn’t mind, I’d-” 

 

“Joe.” He was frustrated by this  _ David’s  _ unflappability. Didn’t this idiot know that Joe could kill him right here, right now? Or that men like Joe were dangerous, especially to boy’s as soft and sweet as him? 

 

“ _ Joe _ .” He hadn’t done anything to earn such a bright, toothy smile, nor that breathey voice that dripped with something Joe refused to look into, “I’m pleased to have met you, Joe.”

 

  And then, of all things, David offered a hand for him to shake like they were two old acquaintances who’d bumped into each other on the street. Such a polite,  _ normal  _ gesture… Joe dismissed it as satire  _ immediately.  _ This book-loving asshole surely couldn’t be serious, treating Joe with any sort of respect? Where the  _ fuck  _ did this lily-lover come from?? 

 

“Oh yeah, why’s that? I’m not gonna fuck you, you know?” 

 

“I’M-EXCUSE ME?!” Scandal was a very good look on this  _ Webster’s  _ face, Joe decided. And he should’ve found David’s scarlett cheeks comic and pathetic; certainly not “ _ becoming”  _ which is what his rotted brain had supplied. 

 

“‘S why you’re here, no? Why you’re  _ really  _ here. You think I owe you because you gutted Cobb and took me from one prison cell to the next?! You think I’ll fall on my knees and weep my thanks, you fucking  _ pig?!”  _

 

“NO! Holy-Jesus-Mary, I- that’s not-I would never-” 

 

“Never touch something as filthy and  _ used  _ as me?! Wouldn’t  _ deign to _ -” 

 

“WOULD YOU SHUT UP?!?!?” 

 

   Joe’s jaw snapped shut in shock as he assessed the sudden change in David. Now his face was reddened not with coquettish embarrassment but genuine anger, and those eyes flashed with a dangerous fire that Joe wanted to bathe himself in. Now  _ that _ , Joe decided, was the best look on David. The Sailing Master was fucking  _ magnificent  _ in his rage. 

 

“I don’t want to-to- I don’t want anything from you except companionship, alright?! And, NO, don’t you-before you open your big, fat mouth, I mean  _ platonic, innocent friendship!  _ So would you stop treating me like I’m some disgusting, lecherous criminal for one GODDAMNED second and actual let me speak?! Huh, Joe?!”

 

   Webster’s anger tore through his swiftly, and left him a huffing, puffing mess while he attempted to gather himself into something proper and polite again. But the damage had already been done, Joe thought gleefully, as David’s curls continued to stick up in wild tufts and his face remained ruddy and flustered. He preferred this wild-eyed creature he’d managed to pull out of David anyhow. He coaxed the animal out once more with effortless ease by allowing himself to give David his sweetest smile, that forbidden fruit, and whispering into the pitch-black of his cabin: 

  
_ “ Ich werde es glauben, wenn ich es sehe, Engel. _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language notes: 
> 
> "Auch wenn du mich Liebe nennst?" - "Even when you called me 'love'?"
> 
> "Ich werde es glauben, wenn ich es sehe, Engel." - "I'll believe it when I see it, angel."


	7. The Breaking Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How could they not see that this was all a visage; could they not feel the walls caving in around them the way he could? These people, these men were not their friends! This so called “Captain Winters” May have had all the other boys fooled, but Joe saw right through all of his “philanthropic bullshit”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Sorry for the brief hiatus; I was on vacation for the first time in over four years! Now that I'm back home (and slowly but surely dying of a stomach bug but let's all ignore that), I'm free to try and make you cry via the lovely lense of Joseph Liebgott! I promise that next chapter will be a lot sweeter, as we take a brief interlude to explore the Tab/Grant of it all. xx

   Breakfast had been served on the lower deck, the long room fit to bursting with chattering, hungry men who stunk of the sea and a lack of available hygiene. Joe observes them from a distance, burning with hatred and disgust. It makes him feel positively ill, to watch these thieving pigs smiling and laughing and slopping down the watery stew like it was made of ambrosia. Teeth grit, he stared at the back of Gene’s head, where the younger boy was chatting quietly with some of the crew members, Babe at his side of course.

“Traitors!” Joe thought darkly while his keen eyes fixed to the hands of the pirate closest to his friend ( a young-faced, gap toothed man with a mop of sandy hair who never seemed to stop smiling), making sure they never strayed too close to Gene.

   As Babe guffawed and even Gene tittered a quiet little laugh at something another pirate (fluffy brown hair, squinty brown eyes that reminded Joe of a puppy, perpetual cigarette hanging out of the side of his grinning mouth) had said, Joe shook his head and shoved the bowl of food he’d been offered even further away. How could they not see that this was all a visage; could they not feel the walls caving in around them the way he could? These people, these men were not their friends! This so called “Captain Winters” May have had all the other boys fooled, but Joe saw right through all of his “philanthropic bullshit”. Winters has told them all he was more than willing to help them, called himself an “abolitionist” and a “pacifist”, and Babe and Doc and Garcia and Tab and Blithe had all just nodded their heads and believed it. Pathetic. So willing and desperate to believe that the worst was over. Only Joe knew the truth: there would never be anything good left out there for them. Sobel’s boys… used goods, sodomites, less than human; that’s what they were now. Joe felt like if anybody were to close closely enough at him, take that pretty boy moron from last night for instance, and they’d see Sobel’s fingerprints smeared all over his alabaster skin, smudges on his soul bone deep. Don’t Doc and Babe and the others feel unclean and ruined? How can they trust so easily? Laugh so freely?

“Yeah, I know exactly how you feel!”

   Joe is startled rather violently by Tab’s sudden appearance at his side, but cooly hides it from the goofily-smiling boy. Judging by Tab’s sunny smile, he has no idea how Joe feels, and he feels the thickening layer of ice he’s built up between himself and the other men grow tougher. Tab is unfortunately unaffected by Joe’s stony silence, and babbles on:

“It’s a lot, you know? All this kindness, these men who look so rough actually being real good people; I’m pretty overwhelmed myself. But, it’s important that you’re not afraid, Joe. The worst is over, yeah? Sobel’s gone.”

    _Floyd Talbert_. Joe had many conflicting feelings regarding the taller, sandy-haired boy from America, most of them negative. He was, of course, incredibly handsome (he was one of Sobel’s ‘chosen ones’ after all) but that didn’t bother Joe. No, what Joe hated was that Tab knew how handsome he was; he’d probably been praised for his “ruddy good looks” in his cradle as a boy. If Joe viewed his looks as a curse, well, Tab viewed them as a gift, and one he’d used to his advantage. Joe had fought his fate tooth and nail at every turn, snarled in the faces of those greedy, insatiable men and their gold coins and treacle-thick flattery. Tab had put on his bravest and most handsome face and chose to embrace it. With every sly comment, cheeky flirtation, and shameless wink towards men who could be his father they were so old, a hatred so powerful flamed inside of Joe that it honest to God frightened him. So many nights, Liebgott had lied in his own filth and watched as moonlight cast light off of one of the beautiful pieces of jewelry Tab’s consorts had given him, and pressed a weary thumb to the bruises on his face (his own gifts given), and fought back the urge to tear Floyd Talbert to one million shining little pieces.

“Hey, Tab?” He said softly, waited for those cat-like brown eyes to find his own, and took a deep breath, “GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!”

   Tab jumped back in shock, banging his knee on the table in the process and swore a blue streak. The commotion had set off the rest of the over-crowded cargo bay, and several of them rushed to make sure everybody was okay. He watched with a shivering sort of rage as a broad, tall and blonde pirate placed gentle hands on both of Tab’s shoulders and asked Floyd if he was alright. Floyd, with a sigh, referred to the pirate by name (“Chuck”) and reassured he and the other concerned savages that evil ole’ Liebgott had not bruised his delicate flesh. “Ah, the devil works quick.” Joe thought as he felt the glares of multiple men singe him in their ferocity, “He’s already got them all wrapped around his finger.”

“What?! The fuck do you assholes want from me, eh?!”

   The crowd had mostly dispersed at his shouting, shaking their heads and probably thinking that it was too bad that this man, so young, was already so broken. Eugene was the only man who remained, standing before Joe with a carefully blank look on his face. He was barely recognizable now that he was clean and properly clothed; shaken of the haunted look in his dark blue eyes that stared him down so intensely. The only thing that remained was the disappointed frown on his pretty mouth, stern as ever at Joe’s behavior. He uttered just one word, Joe’s name, but hearing the sternness was enough to set Joe off.

‘YOU I got nothing to say to, Doc! Not a damned thing!”

   Eugene looked positively stricken as Joe shoved by him, needing to leave this room before all the air was pulled from his lungs, and hated himself all the more for it. He rushed up the creaking steps of the lower deck unto the forecastle deck as his lungs gasped for air and his vision swam. Only two other men were above deck- a great, hulking mass of a man with an oddly boyish smile and cherubically curly blonde hair, and a short, scowling man whose arms seemed perpetually crossed even when his eyes softened the longer he and Cherub Giant spoke- but they thankfully ignored whatever Joe was doing in favor of each other. He wasn’t even of the right mind to be grateful as he clutched at Easy’s railing, staring into the ocean’s depths in some vain way of calming himself. But his breath continuing to quicken, his heart continued to race, and the dreaded tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. Why now? He had never behaved this way onboard Currahee, when breakdowns like this were a dime a dozen and expected, during the worst time of his life. But one, just one, stupid comment from Tab had set him off into hysterics. He wasn’t like he truly hated Floyd or Eugene; God knows they’d all been there for each other more times than Joe could count. Sure, sometimes Floyd’s attitude had rubbed Joe the wrong way, but he could recall the taller boy’s thumb brushing comfortingly across his knuckles as he collapsed into Gene’s surprisingly strong arms, too exhausted to fight their kindness away anymore. And now, now Joe had hurt them, spat at them the same way he had to the very men who’d harmed them. He had made them feel like they were no better than those lecherous monsters, and now he was drowning in his own self loathing.

   Taking great, gasping breaths, he laid his forehead on top of his forearms and finally allowed the shuddering sobs to come. His whole body shook with the might of his sorrow, his anger, his mourning for when life was simple and he wasn’t like this. In a flash of darkness, he pictured himself jumping into the sea, frothy white waves taking him far away where he couldn’t hurt or be hurt anymore. He was playing the macabre, comforting image over and over again when a voice sounded from somewhere to his right.

“Pushing everybody in your life away won’t help.” David spoke softly, carefully, like Joe was a wild animal he didn’t want to spook. He resented and appreciated the sentiment all at once.

   Joe didn’t bother looking up from the cradle of his arms, unwilling to turn and see how beautiful he was certain David looked bathed in sunlight. If the flowery bastard was already beautiful in nearly pitch darkness, than Joe thought that seeing those blue-green eyes and full, pink lips fully might actually kill him dead on the spot. And besides, something as pure and lovely as David was not welcome in the ugly, dake place Joe was lost in.

“Trust me, Joe. Being alone with yourself only makes it all worse, so much worse.” His words weighed down heavily with experience and pain of all things, which confused Joe tremendously. What did this sweet looking rich boy know of pain, of suffering?

“I kept entirely to myself for most of my life, never spoke up for myself or tried to step outside of the very narrow margin my parents had drawn up for me. My father detested me; he hated my poetry, how easily I would cry as a boy, how much I resembled my mother when I was a child. And my mother hated me for making my father constantly angry, disappointed. My younger sister...well, she was too young to understand, and so I turned my back on her as well. I became invisible in my own home, in my own life. Eventually, my father and I’s differences came to blows, and that was the night I left home. But even here, on Easy where I’d chosen to make my new life, still I was distant and silent. The men, coming from such wildly different lifestyles, interpreted my distance as arrogance, as snobbery. I was free, Joe, but I was also alone. And I realised something, after talking for a very long time to Quartermaster Lipton and Captain Winters and all the other remarkable men who make up this crew: there’s no point to living a free life if you’ve no one to share it with.”

   Slowly, Joe lifted his head and turned to look at David in silent astonishment. David sat with his back leaning up against the railing to Joe’s right, eyes staring off into the middle distance thoughtfully. In profile, he was still painfully handsome to Joe, and made all the more beautiful by his seriousness, his wisdom. He marveled at this boy, this mere stranger, who had just poured his heart out to himself without hesitance, even after seeing how cruel Joe could be. He wondered how David expected him to react; if he anticipated more of the temper tantrums, his vulnerable words being thrown right back into his open, unguarded face.

“What if...what if my life isn’t worth sharing?”

   Blue met brown and Joe was graced by the sweetest, saddest smile he had ever seen as David’s hand moved slowly enough that Joe could stop him with ease, before carefully landing on top of Joe’s still clutching the railing. Joe stared at the rebellious touch but didn’t move away, enthralled by the feeling of warm, calloused fingers pressed against his own thin, icy digits. His world, which was once consumed by darkness and fury and loss, was now consumed by hidden freckles along David’s gently sloping nose and a shock of white, bright teeth. David, David, David.

“Joe...I can promise you, it is.”

   His words were almost inaudible if Joe wasn’t honed completely and utterly to every breath he took, every emotion that flickered across that tanned face. He hadn’t even realized his breathing had slowed, and his tears had ebbed to nothing. He was only aware of the one tiny point in which their bodies were connected: the cautious touch of his palm and their interlocked gazes. He squinted and tried to see the hidden motives of David’s actions in his eyes: the lust, the malice, the mockery, but all he saw was a naive sort of honesty beaming back at him. Horrifying, terrifying, that someone as good and pure as David could ever look at someone as jaded and damaged as Joe like that. God, what was he going to do with this fucker?

“Du weißt nichts, Engel.” Softly, not unkindly, “Du kennst mich nicht.”

“ Vielleicht,” David acquiesced with a sheepish little smile and a humble little shrug of his strong, broad shoulders, “aber ich würde gerne.”

   Neither man spoke after that, content to sit in silence save for the gentle roar of the ocean’s tides, the occasional laughter of the Boatswain and the Carpenter, and the pulsing, growing Something that lay in between their entwined fingers.

* * * *

   At dinner, it was almost comical how Gene tensed and Babe bristled as Joe approached their table with David a warm but obnoxious presence at his heels. Joe didn’t know the names of the other men sat with them, but he could tell that already many of them had formed a bond with the inseparable pair, as Joe was surrounded by bared teeth and sharp eyes. One man in particular, sat on Babe’s other side with a jawline sharp enough to cut glass, looked eager to wallop Joe, but another pirate (the one with messy hair and the perpetual smoking habit) quelled him with a palm on his forearm. An intense silence settled over the usually boisterous crowd, waiting to see if Joe would dare try and harm Eugene again. He suspected men like Sharp Jaw and Sleepy Eyes were willing it, while it was abundantly clear Puppy-dog Eyes and Babe were just praying the fallout wouldn’t be too messy.

“I’m sorry.” Two words, and it was like cannon blasts had rocked the ship as most of the men burst in melodramatic gasps or exclamations of surprise. Eugene, however, appeared to be unmoved save for the quirk of one eyebrow, waiting expectantly. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you, or tried to push you away, Doc. You’re like a brother to me, ya know? I’m just going through a real hard time right now and-” his tongue grew thick in his mouth, and he couldn’t make the words come out, couldn’t confess to his fears in front of all of these curious eyes.

“I know, Joe. “ Eugene’s voice was measured, cool, but also so full of understanding that Joe nearly wanted to cry again, “We’ve all been through Hell together. And that’s gonna take some time for us to heal. I’ll be here for ya’, Joe, ‘s long’s you’ll have me.”

“Likewise.” Joe choked out, reaching out to squeeze Gene’s hand like they’d done dozens of times on Currahee, a silent, grounding comfort. Babe did the same to Joe’s other palm, his smile evident in his big, brown eyes as they beamed up at him. Most of the other men turned away from the frightfully vulnerable scene, save for most of the other Currahee captives, including Tab. Joe’s gaze slowly turned to Floyd’s, taking in his carefully closed off expression with a wince.

“And ‘m sorry to you too, Tab. I’m just...so angry about what happened to us, what they did to me and you and Babe an-”

  Floyd’s hug was unexpected, but welcome as Joe sank into the first kind embrace he’d felt since he’d hugged his mother goodbye so long ago. The first kind touch apart of David’s, but this was different. Joe was glad when he couldn’t seem to find anymore tears left, but he was still overwhelmed with emotion as Floyd whispered his forgiveness into the crown of Joe’s head, murmurs of “I know.” and “we’ll get through this, all of us, together.” Once the hugging was done, he glanced back at David to see the pride shining in those impossibly blue eyes, and sat down amongst his brothers and the crew of Easy, and felt the wall of ice thaw just a bit. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language notes: 
> 
> "Du weißt nichts, Engel"- "You know nothing, Angel."
> 
> "Du kennst mich nicht"- "You do not know me."
> 
> "Vielleicht," - "Perhaps,"
> 
> "...aber ich würde gerne" - "but I would like to."


	8. Golden Boy;Bronzed Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: non-con, slurs, mentions of sex work
> 
> "Floyd Talbert had grown up in a happy town, surrounded by friends, with his loving mother never more than a few steps away...her doting, her kindness had been a godsend when he was small, but after a while...well, Floyd grew up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hh a ha writing this chapter actually made me CRY sooo...there's some classic comedy for you all. Seriously though, I understand that this chapter can be incredibly triggering for some people, so if this one feels too rough, please feel free to read on to the next chapter! We're finally going to get into the saga of Captain Winters and Mr. Lewis Nixon, the rebellious and unabashed son of one of America's most powerful naval officers!

  
    He would rather eat handfuls of shattered glass than admit this out loud, but Joe had been right about him. Floyd Talbert had grown up in a happy town, surrounded by friends, with his loving mother never more than a few steps away. From the moment he was placed in her sweat-slick arms, his Mama had held him with stars in her eyes. Her baby boy, her darling, her Floyd. His Pa and brothers loved him too (it seemed like a compulsion for Floyd to be adored), but even their love paled in the ferocity and depth in which Mama loved him. And her doting, her kindness had been a godsend when he was small, but after a while...well, Floyd grew up.

    From the moment his Mama has plopped a book in his lap, little Floyd had absorbed every grand tale of adventure and bravery like a bright-eyed little sponge; in his cot his dreams were filled with sword fights and treasure chests and gracious maidens with hair like sunlight. He loved them all, but his favorite books to read and games to play, were Adventures on the High Seas. Like a flock of screeching chicks, he and his friends would run through yards and across town waving sticks and clasping one hand to their eyes in lieu of proper eyepatches. His Mama would fret, watching her little angel running about so recklessly with no cares in the world, but what else could she do? Her little Floyd had a wild imagination and an appetite for life the likes of which she’d never seen.

Still, Mrs. Talbert worried, constantly tutting over his dirt-streaked face or his grass-stained breeches every evening with a shake of her golden head.

“You must be careful, love of mine. I don’t know what I’d do if you were ever to hurt yourself.”

    She’d said those words more or less verbatim the last morning Floyd was ever to feel her gentle thumbs brushing his cheekbones, sorting out his fluffy hair. He’d told his Mama he was going over Jeffrey Monroe’s house to study; it was the first time he’d ever lied to her in all of his life. Truthfully, he and Jeffrey and about four other boys were going to sneak downtown in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the pirate crew rumored to be there at the local tavern. Floyd’s palms had tingled at the thought that he was going to get to see a real, living pirate! His Mama would never have approved, but Mama worries too much. He would just catch a peek is all (but maybe, just maybe he could just exchange a word or two with one of the nicer looking ones?) and no one would have to know outside of his little band of rascals and himself of course.

    If you’re reading ahead, then suffice is to say, Floyd certainly did more than ‘sneak a peek’ at the crew of S.S. Currahee. In fairness, Floyd did in fact strike up conversation with a pirate; the drunkard's overly friendly demeanor hadn’t even struck the teenager as odd. From the time he was in diapers he’d been able to charm the pants off of any man,woman, or beast with just his winning, toothy grin as ammo. Jeffrey, his best friend and also a constant worrywort, had bade Floyd to go, but Floyd was helpless to the whims of his captivated audience. He felt positively amazing as the group of gruff, smelly men continued to circle around him and guffaw at his jokes, slapping their knees and spilling their ale. Floyd couldn’t even find it in himself to mind when the first pirate, a Mr. Cobb apparently, splashed his beer on Floyd’s white shirt.

“This is the best day of my life!” He’d thought breathlessly when their captain, a tall and stony-faced individual who hadn’t said so much as a word throughout the whole exchange, had offered to let Floyd take a look about their ship. An actual pirate ship! He’d have been a fool to say no!

“And down here,” Captain Sobels voice had grown peculiarly soft, “we keep something very special.” He held open the hatch for Floyd to step down first, and it was only after he’d taken a few steps that he realized that Sobel wasn’t following him down. As he was turning to call out to the other man, the hatch shut with a slam that rattled Floyd’s teeth inside his skull. And that was when he noticed the smell.

* * * *

    At the time, Sobel’s Boys consisted of two others: a round-faced Italian boy who introduced himself as Antonio, and another American boy-this one from the East Coast-with a pale, drawn face named John Hall. And it remained that way for a bit, Tony and John Hall (always with his full name) and Tab against the rocky waves and the stench of their own bodies (he wasn't Floyd anymore; only people he loved got the privilege of his real name). He did not think his situation could get any worse than this, not knowing why he was being forced to endure this treatment and being left alone for days, but it turned out that knowing why Sobel had taken him was far worse.

    Tab may seem naive to the average person, but everything had clicked the moment he was introduced by Sobel to an older man with hungry looking eyes. He was well-dressed, spoke in a hushed voice that only guilty people used, and asked Tab for his name all while his eyes darted about the darkened tavern in search of familiar faces. When he opened his wallet to pay Sobel (“for me” he thought hauntedly), Tab caught a glimpse of a sombre looking photograph: a family with blank expressions, and the same dishwater-brown hair.

     Everything was more tolerable if he acted like he enjoyed these men and their unwanted company; smiled and laughed at all the appropriate spaces and flirted just the littlest bit. He didn’t want to be like Lieb, the boy they’d picked up in Austria, or “Doc” the french boy that angered his ‘clients’ because he refused to speak or even look at them. Sobel and Cobb made their lives a living hell; Tab just didn’t see the point. Everything was already miserable, no? Why not make things just a bit better for yourself?

     Oh, he knew that the others resented him for this philosophy; they were just bitter, Tab thought. They were taking out all of their shitty lots in life on him because he was polite and not willing to get the shit kicked out of him daily. So sue him! He would just laugh off Joe’s cruel little side remarks, and block out the harsh things Cobb would call him and ignore the times when an occasional john would call him “whore” or “hooker”. Most would call it denial; Tab preferred the term ‘survival’. But now that he was out of that horrific cargo bay, Tab still found himself defaulting to self-preservation tactics. And by that I mean: he locked eyes with the biggest, strongest looking member of Easy’s Crew and fluttered his golden-blonde eyelashes at him. Unfortunately, Bull already had his eyes firmly planted atop the tousled head of Easy’s Boatswain, Johnny Martin, so Tab accepted Bull’s gentle letdown and set his sights on the next best thing: Martin’s apprentice.

    Chuck Grant had a real presence about him; wherever he went, crew members would call out to him or nod respectfully as he passed. Tall, broad-shouldered, with blonde hair and a handsomely-rounded face, Tab was a little shocked to find how easily it came to flirt with the man. He happily followed Chuck from a bit of a distance, admiring his low cadence and soft voice as he strut about Easy like he owned the damn place.

“He was nothing like the nervous, cowardly old men who’d mistreated Tab in the past.” Tab thought to himself as he lay sprawled on the gleaming, freshly swabbed deck and watched Chuck inspecting the mysterious hole that had appealed in one of their sails. Those hands, they were capable and strong yes, but Tab highly doubted they’d ever done anyone undue harm. There was just one problem: Chuck was too nice.

“Tab, the hell do ye think yer doin’ down there?” The fond grin ruined any chances that Tab would take his words to heart, although they did throw him for a loop.

“Just admiring the view, Captain.”

“Aye, how many time’s I got to tell ya? I ain’t the Captain.”

“Yeah, but you could be! You have the confidence of a captain and the look about you, too. I think you’d make a fine captain, Chuck.”

    Heat curled pleasantly in Tab’s chest as he watched the bright red flush work its way across Chuck’s cheeks, pleased as punch with himself. All of his smugness was shaken away when Chuck frowned down at him, disapproval and something more sad than anything else clear on his handsome face:

“And what’ve I told ye about all that flirtin’ nonsense, aye? Ye don’t have to act like that around us, around me.”

    Chuck’s face was open and kind but his words still stung something fierce. Feeling properly chastised, he averted his gaze from Chuck’s handsome face to his bare feet, the soles of which Tab could see from where he was laying. Gosh, even his feet were oddly clean compared to the others, strong and sturdy looking. There was nothing about Chuck Grant that didn’t scream stability to Tab, and he found himself giving into his every impulse to bask in his brilliant glow. Except, not now; not when Chuck brought up his dirty pass so gently, like the words would hurt less if he rolled them in sugar first. Unfortunately for Chuck, Tab was used to being the one to deliver candy-sweet words with their bitterness hidden deep in their core, and so he wouldn’t be falling for that tactic any time soon. It was the sincerity that blazed a trail across Chuck’s face that stopped Tab from doing what he wanted to do most: cuss his newfound friend out, push him away, and tell Chuck that he had no idea what Tab’s life was like.

“ ‘M bad, Chuck. Force of habit.” is what he eventually muttered.

* * * *

   It wasn’t so much Tab that brought them together so much as fate when Lipton announced that several crew members had offered up their beds to their newest passengers, and Tab was gently called over. As he was introduced to the tall, blonde, and strikingly handsome Chuck Grant, apprentice to Boatswain Martin, Tab already liked him. The man stood out with his mostly clean shaven face, which was pretty much unheard of outside of Easy, and his sweet, shy smile. He bore none of the markings of what Tab had come to expect from pirates: rotted teeth, wandering eyes, and a foul tongue that delighted in belittling him.

“Guess you’ll be the lad taking my bunk then?” Chuck asked and then astonished both Tab and Lipton by holding out his hand to shake, “Happy to help ye, ‘specially after everything ye’ve been through, Mr-”

“Floyd!” His face paled when he realized he’d given Chuck his actual name, flustered as he was by Chuck’s gentlemanly attitude and strong jawline.

“Floyd. I like that;suits ye. I’m Chuck. Chuck Grant.”  
‘Y-yeah, good. I’m Floyd.”

“Yes, I do believe ye said that already.”

* * * *

    Three days after Floyd and Chuck had started out this tenuous, innocent friendship, Liebgott had flown at Floyd like a bat out of Hell, and brought back all of the other times Joe had snarled at him. And why he’d snarled at him with such hatred. One little round of berating and suddenly a lot of the shit Floyd had pack up in his “Do Not Touch Ever” box had come rushing back to him. Curled up on Chuck’s cot, his breaths hiccuped harshly and loudly as he pushed shaking hands through his hair, and fought back bile.

“You’re not like the others.”

   Tab paused, in the process of yanking up his breeches with the laces still undone, and felt something icy wash over him. One of Sobel’s most frequent clients, a Mr. Greene who was fat and short and balding with a gawdy golden tooth that only worsened his appearance, was still lounging in the inn’s creaking bed and watching Tab as he redressed. Swallowing his tongue, he turned his back from Mr. Greene and scooped up his filthy, discarded shirt.

“ Seriously, I’ve heard terrible stories from friends of mine who’ve also taken a dip in Sobel’s fountain of youths. They say that they cry, they protest, or-worst of all- they just lay there like corpses! Not you, though, boy. There’s a reason why I’ve always requested you you know? Makes me feel better knowing that you at least want it.”

    He lost the battle with his twisting stomach and promptly threw up over the side of Chuck’s bed, hating himself for getting so worked up. God he wished his body would stop shaking, that his vision would unblurry itself, but his world remained a tilted nightmare version of Chuck’s cabin. Desperate for any sensation that would pull him away from the stench of unwashed bedding and sex, he buried his face in Chuck’s pillow and inhaled his clean, masculine scent, and hated himself for doing this too. What kind of creep was he, sniffing his friend’s pillow, especially when the guy had made it abundantly clear that who Floyd was made him uncomfortable; what he was? Chuck would probably throw a fit if he knew Tab had been rubbing his nasty, whorish body all over his things, wouldn’t he?

“It’s not my fucking fault!” His thoughts were a roaring hysteria that made his head ache, “it’s not my fault that I made a choice that made me a little less fucking miserable, that I chose not to make those terrible men hate me, that I learnt to enjoy it because otherwise what the fuck else was I meant to do? Hate myself and pray for my own death instead? I was just trying to survive! Just....trying. “

“FLOYD!”

    Once more, Floyd’s world shifted as strong but careful hands gripped his shoulders and sat him up. His overheated forehead sunk into Chuck’s cool, leather-covered shoulder in the search of relief without really even thinking about it, barely registering as one of those hands began running a soothing, cool trail down his back. It was a touch that reminded Floyd so sharply of his Mama that it almost hurt more than helped, but his body was so starved of gentle, considerate touch that he pressed back into the sensation like a cat.  
  
“Liebgott...pardon my saying this, but there’s gotta be something seriously wrong with that kid.”

Chuck’s low voice fractured something in his chest, and he was shocked as, when he finally spoke, his words came out rough as gravel:

“No, Chuck...there’s something seriously wrong with me.”

   He felt more than heard as Chuck rushed to correct and reassure him, an unnatural sort of heat spreading from his chest throughout his body as he steamrolled over Chuck’s empty kindness.

“No, I should’ve been like him. He didn’t just give up and accept it, you know? He kept his pride, his dignity...he didn’t just roll over and take it-”

“Stop it. Please.” His entire line of sight was nothing but Chuck’s face: pinched with agony and distress, as warm, rough hands cupped both sides of his face with such a tenderness that Floyd ridiculously wanted to scream. His tongue obeyed simply because he would rather jump overboard than see such acute pain and sadness on the face of someone so kind, so important to him. “Floyd, please don’t ever-I can’t hear you talk about yerself like that; it’s breaking my heart.”

“But it’s-”

“It’s not true.” The firm way Chuck said it, with a slight shake to his face to boot, made it pretty hard for Floyd to argue against him, even though he was hardly convinced.

“Chuck, please just- don’t touch me, okay? I know you don’t wanna-know you hate me ‘actin that way’ and all, but- fuck- I’m sorry. I don’t know how else to be!”

   Dutifully, because apparently Chuck Grant’s set mission in life was to forever distance himself from the grim spectres of Tab’s johns, he removed his hands at his behest. However, as Tab bit that last sentence out, his hands came up once more but just hovered there, while his brilliantly blue eyes looked positively shattered through with pain.

“Why wouldn’t I wanna-oh, Floyd.” Chuck rubbed both his palms roughly down his own face, and when he resurfaced,he stuck Tab with a look of downright penitence: “I didn’t ever mean-I just didn’t want ye thinking you had to...i dunno, make yerself do anything ye didn’t want in order to stay here. I thought ye were flirtin out of some sorta obligation.”

   Floyd wasn’t a blusher really, but the odd mixture of embarrassment and anger brought red to his face: “Well, I wasn’t.” He stated boldly, craning his neck up to pin Chuck with a fierce look of his own. To his credit, Chuck did not waver from the stare, not even when his hands blindly sought out one of Floyd’s.

“I hate myself fer makin’ ye feel even sort of inadequate, Floyd. Truth be told, I’m kinda...smitten by ye;have been since we first spoke and you made me feel, I dunno, like I was worth talking to a man as handsome as you?”

    And now Floyd was dizzy for a wholly new reason, nearly unable to grasp it as real when Chuck Grant was sitting on a musty cot with his side pressed into his, looking handsome as all get out, and saying things he had only dreamed about. He still felt annoyingly fragile, his body still overtaxed with heat and fear, but things gained a little more clarity the longer he took in Chuck wearing a charmingly boyish smile. Slowly, as the two men breathed together and their fingers carefully interlocked, the world became less fire and brimstone; the ghost of Mr. Greene and Sobel thousands of miles away from this tiny little cabin. Once he was feeling a bit more like himself, a soft sort of smirk played on his face because Chuck Grant was a blusher, and Tab could tell he was working up to something but he never would. Not until Floyd broke the ice and reassured them both that he wouldn’t crumble if he did so.

“Yer thinkin’ up a real storm over there, Chuck, I can tell.” He teased, laughing when Chuck’s eyes widened like a child with his hand caught mid-cookie jar snatch, “Care to share with a retired whore?”

   Predictably, Chuck’s nose scrunched with disapproval at the term, but whatever, it was important to Floyd that he’d said it out loud for the first time. Also, retired sounded like a good fuckin’ thing to tack on right now. Tab nearly rolled his eyes as Chuck’s thumb brushed along his strong chin, up his jawline, and finally just a gossamer-light touch across his bottom lip. He only realized himself (and recalled a fairly crucial detail) when Chuck finally gathered up the courage and began leaning into him, those wonderfully full lips open and ready-

“Wait! No, don’t kiss me!” A muffled protest was covered by both of Floyd’s hands as he turned his head to the side, letting go when Chuck stubbornly tugged at his wrists.

“If you’re not ready, that’s perfectly fine. I can wait-”

“Oh for the love of God!” His brown eyes rolled skyward freely now, “No, I-trust me, Chuck, I’d kiss that look right offa yer face right now but I...I kind of maybe threw up earlier? On the floor?” 

It took a moment, but Chuck’s voice came out its typical register of low, gentle, and patient when he finally answered: “Okay...well, I-that’s fine too.”

   And as they both laughed, as Chuck’s thumb continued to brush semi-consciously over Floyd’s cheekbone, Floyd knew it to be true. He was still healing, still traumatized that he’d had to discover something as fundamental and private as his sexuality in such an awful way, but he was perfectly fine. They were going to be perfectly fine, him and Chuck and Gene and hell, maybe even Joe too. His life was starting to come back to its normalcy, even though he was on a pirate ship hundreds of miles from home surrounded by loud, strange men. Just like always, Floyd Talbert was surrounded by friends, and by loved ones, and he felt golden again.


End file.
